#the white house can go screw itself

[gioiaalbanoart]

Not JUST the white house....

He knew what he was talking about

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Randall felt a bit like a yo-yo during this conversation, going from brightening at the suggestion of a courthouse wedding, only to falter when Emily pointed out the time discrepancy. She was right: It'd need to be open very late for their wedding, and that just may not be a possibility...

However, it didn't take June to say, as she took a sip of her tea, "Well, tell you what: I treat a couple of the justice's grandchildren at the clinic, and we've spoken a few times when he's brought them in-his daughter and her husband sometimes can't get out of work, so he steps up. Why don't I talk to him, and see if there's anything we can arrange?"

"Really, Ma?" Randall asked, brows rising in surprise at this suggestion, at which his mother shrugged with a little smile, saying, "It's worth a shot!" She could tell him that her son and his bride-to-be both worked very late and wouldn't be able to make it any earlier than the evening-given the odd hours his daughter and son-in-law worked at their joint law firm, he might understand.

"Unless you two have any other ideas?" Wilhelm ventured to ask, at which Randall smiled, admitting, "Nothing in particular," before turning to Emily-did she have an alternative suggestion?

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dbf!Nat x fem!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!Nat, sub!reader, corruption, virgin!reader, oral, fingering, praise, inexperienced reader, slight manipulative Nat,

𝐀/𝐍: I don’t know about that one 😭

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞

Natasha watched you closely, like she always did when she was visiting your father, and each time you got prettier in her eyes. You were 19, 20 at best, and Natasha was a grown woman in her late thrusts lusting after you but she couldn’t help it. Not when you wore those short shorts which barely covered anything. Or when you were reading a book by the pool as Natasha helped your father. How she had wished to just take you there and then not caring about your father being around.

She almost choked when she saw your phone number suddenly pop up on her screen one chilly evening.  She had given you her number in case you ever needed her quickly. I smirk tugged on her lips when she heard you say, you needed her help because your father wasn’t at home. The chance she had been waiting on for months now. She speeds the way down to your fathers house, barely keeping her thoughts on the road.

She parked her car in the driveway and you already stood at the door, your lip caught under your lips as if you were nervous. “Caught something on fire?” She joked, approaching you with fast steps. “this is gonna sound really stupid but I- I took off my necklace and put it on the side of my skin and it somehow ended up down the drain” She had to laugh which made you even more embarrassed about you. “Don’t blush… I’ll get it out in a second”

“So where’s your daddy, mhm?” She asked, knowing you couldn't guess her attention, as she opened the screw nut around the trap with a pair of pliers. “Away for work for the weekend” Natasha hummed, moving on to the next nut “So she left you all alone here” It took a few seconds to answer after all you were looking at her flexing biceps which were revealed by the white wife beater she was wearing. “Mhm” you only hummed, too lost in admiring the older woman. 

She bumped the sink trap out in the bucket and could immediately spot the golden chain you had lost before. She fished it out with skilled hands. “There you go princess” She handed you the necklace, knowing fully well the nickname made your stomach feel funny. Silence took place as she reinstalled the trap under the skin until you broke it again “I really don't know how to thank you” You muttered your lips still in a pale pink color. She stilled while washing her hands clean from the dirty skin water. This was her chance 

“Well I do have an… idea” She wiped the hands on her washed out jeans. “How about a kiss?” She asked, closing the gap between the two of you. “I know how you look at me… are you shy, baby?” You had to nod, your hands shaking as you put them on her chest. “Can I kiss you?” If she was already leaning in your lips only inches away “Yes” Your lips meet, she kissed you with a passion which had you holding your breath the entire time. Her hands found your hair slightly pulling on it to get you to open your mouth. Her tongue forced itself inside your mouth making you let go of a moan you didn’t know you were holding. She bit down on your lip pugging on it. 

She was so much more experienced than you and you couldn’t help but melt under her touch. “Mhm your mouth tastes so good” She hummed licking over your neck to get more taste of you. “I bet you are a virgin right baby?” She knew she couldn’t leave any obvious marks on your neck, your father would get suspicious. “Y- Yes” You hiccup, feeling her teeth over your neck. 

She had you undressed on the bed spread as Natasha inspected your awfully wet pussy. You were embarrassed by it, trying to cover herself up. “N- Natasha” you whine trying to close your legs but she held them open. “No, no, no baby you keep them open… don’t be so embarrassed you're so pretty” She leaned down to kiss your pubic bone before she dove into your pussy, managing to salvor the most beautiful sound from your throat possible.  

“I’m gonna eat you out so good baby” She mumbled into your cunt, but you were so confused by how she made you feel. Never before had you felt that way but you didn’t want her to stop. Her tongue felt so good, so wrong. “Do you like me fucking your virgin cunt baby” She mocked her fingers held your folds open. You nodded desperately, trying to close your legs yet again, she caught them again. “Keep them open stupid slut” She spat, her words didn’t hurt they only made you wetter. 

“Feels weird” You mumbled your head in the pillows not sure if you were about to moan or cry from the overwhelming sensation. Natasha ignored you; she was too focused on feasting on you. The fact that she was your first only made it hotter for her, she took your clit in your mouth making you see stars as the first sob broke from your raw throat. She snuck one of her fingers inside and you were already full. “Fuck baby, we need to stretch that pussy out before you can take me” You looked at her confused of the pleasur lost in moans, whimpers and cries. “Natasha that feels so funny” She hushed you curling her finger “Your gonna cum baby, be a good girl cum on my fingers, just let go” She mumbled against your skin as. As you let go you felt the liquid shooting out of you making you want to bury yourself, had you just? “Damn baby your a squirter” She smiled proudly “That’s a good thing baby, that's so hot” she reassured her “Really?” “Mhm, you did so good baby” She kissed your neck, let me clean you up and then we can cuddle okay baby?”

:)

@jolyssereed

[macfrog]

walking through fire | one shot

just something that's been on my mind the last few weeks. i hope that you're all ok going into this difficult time of year. and if there's any part of this, big or small, that you find yourself resonating with - there will always be a warm, cozy chair in my inbox/dms, free for you to come sit, hang; we can talk about everything or nothing at all. love you guys. 🤍

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk. (better than most healthcare systems offer amarite)

warnings: quite literally about depression & anxiety so please read at your own discretion. established relationship, fluffy soft!joel takes care of his girl, implied suicidal thoughts, use of medication to treat depression/anxiety, feelings of worthlessness/burdening, but hope! in the end! a wee sliver of hope!

word count: 2.7k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

November turns on itself all too quickly.

Your body feels like lead, sinking deep into the mattress. Like a broken, rusted shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean; your hand lying limp above the bedsheets like a sailor’s last attempt at reaching over the waves for help.

Joel opened the blinds today. Nuzzled into you, the scruff of his beard sharp on your numb skin, and then stood up and slowly unveiled the glaring light of white cloud. You shrunk further into the bed, your hot breath suffocating you under the sheets. Inhaling and exhaling, breathing in your own rotten air.

He pushes the door open and shuffles across to the bed. Your sea dips when he lowers into it, two arms slipping around your waist like a lifebuoy. He pulls you into his chest; his warm body melting the ice of your bones.

“Hey,” he whispers, and drags his nose across your cheek. He kisses your temple, combs his fingers through your hair. Dabs his thumb along your bottom lip and then says again, “Hey, darlin’. You awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only enough to see the blurry shape of him; the strong curve of his shoulder, the binary of dark cotton and pale skin.

“Hi, baby. How you feelin’ this mornin’?”

The words catch on the dry cliff of your throat, dangling for a few seconds like panicking climbers, before plummeting into the abyss. You settle for an incoherent mumbling, a vibration on your lips that Joel understands through the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “not so good, huh? That’s okay. You know how much I love you?”

And that peels your eyes open a fraction more. Only enough to sharpen the image of him, to find the dark pools of his eyes and the way the flame in them flickers as he says it.

“Love you so much,” he whispers. The tiny fire thaws the very bottom of your heart, even if only enough to keep the blood pushing heavily through your veins.

Your eyes close over again, and you take his shirt in two weak fists, pulling yourself into his body. Your head fits in the crook of his arm, burying into his side.

“You feel like leavin’ the house today?” he asks, voice sweet and earnest. “Just for a little while? We could go for a walk, could go for a drive. Just you ‘n me, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, your eyes prickling from the sincerity of his question. The guilt beginning to creep its way over your shoulders.

“No? You don’t wanna?” He lifts his head, staring out at the view from the window. “’s a nice day out. Cold, but it’s dry, ‘n the leaves are all orange and yellow, just like you like. Not even for a half hour?”

That same guilt – sneering, bullying – pokes a sharp-clawed finger in your ribs until you answer him. “Tired,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut until you see the sudden, violent assault of stars in your vision.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” Joel says, stroking your back. “But it might do you a little good to get some fresh air. And you’d be with me, and we can come back home whenever you decide.”

Your fear and shame seem to cower beneath his words; melted by the soft timbre of his voice. They retreat inward, burrowing deep between the cage of your ribs, twisting and mangling around your pale bones.

“We can come back whenever?” you whisper, defying their threats.

“Whenever, darlin’. Promise.”

You surrender yourself, letting him take you in his arms and carry you over to your closet, where he sets you down gently. Keeping an arm around your waist, Joel waits patiently as you pick an outfit, and then helps drape it over your frame. You feel more statue than human – solid substance rather than plush flesh. Cold and brittle; the tender touch and lively glow drained from your skin the same way it drains so quickly of energy.

You’ve been fighting for years. Months and months and months of one step at a time and just keep going. Being told you’re more than what’s going on in your brain, being told not to let it become you. But there are days when you stand before the mirror, and you don’t recognize the figure staring back at you. The dark tunnels in place of eyes, the thin line of her lips.

There are days you can see the marks on your skin from how tight your anxiety and depression bind you; wrapping like ivy around your body until there’s nothing left of you to see through the dark green leaves. Just a haggard, shapeless thing. A skeleton too tired to carry the weight of yourself; a heart too weary to beat in time.

There once existed a time you had smiled, even laughed – you know it, you have the lines scored deep into your cheeks to prove it. Sometimes they ache when you think about it, like even they miss the feeling. Joel knows it, too – you sense it whenever he tells some dumb joke, sense that he’s searching your face for the slightest lift, the slightest dip of a dimple. And it fucking kills you, when you realize you have nothing sincere or true to offer him. No swollen cheeks, no flash of teeth. At best, a heavier exhale pushed from your nostrils.

It all feels so long ago, that lighter, fresher, happier you. It feels so far from your clutches. Like you’re drifting further and further from the surface, disappearing into the murky depths of your own mind.

The doctors, the articles, the fucking motivational posts on Instagram all say the same. Keep fighting it. Confront your illness. Prove it wrong. But you’re so fucking tired of fighting. Fighting it the entire drive to work, your heart threatening to burst; fighting it every conversation you have, your façade slowly cracking. Swallowing the panic like you swallow the medication; both of them sticking in your throat and refusing to go down.

There is no fighting it. There is no overcoming through confrontation. If you broke your leg, shattered every bone to dust, would they say the same? You gotta walk on it straight away to make it strong again. You don’t think so.

Joel doesn’t seem to think so, either. Joel, with a heart of molten gold, ready at every turn to let it pour onto your skin and paint it the color of sunlight when you can’t do it yourself. Joel, with his strong arms and wide reach, bundling you up over the top of all that foul ivy and snapping its thick stems with just his fingers.

Joel, who will sit at the edge of your bed and watch you take your meds; kiss your forehead and squeeze you tight when you show him your empty mouth. Joel, who will hold you in the dead of night and tell you stupid stories about his brother when they were kids, rubbing your back and chasing the dark ghosts from your mind.

Joel, who still sees something in you – whether he’s imagining it or not – and decides each day that it’s worth protecting. Worth saving. You’re worth saving, even on the days you don’t believe it yourself.

He drives for ten minutes, a little out of the suburbs and into a thicket of fire-colored leaves and solid, frozen ground. Fall sinks its teeth deep into the roots of the earth, drying up the bloom of summer and replacing it with something harder, something tougher. Nature is dying in the November breeze – the amber leaves painted the color of the trees’ blood as they fight a losing battle against the shifting of time. You feel yourself decaying with it: a drawn-out, painful surrender to the bleak days and dark nights.

Joel keeps his hand on your thigh the entire ride; you keep your fingers intertwined with his. The fluttering in your chest gets quicker and quicker, spreads its wings wider the further you feel from home. Your mouth dries up, forcing you to swallow after every third breath. But his hand stays there, planted on you like the root of an ancient tree: never shifting, no matter how strong the wind throws punches.

A shaky breath falls from your lips when he slows to a halt, the truck parked by a long wooden gate. He cuts the engine and turns to you, squeezing your leg lightly.

“We’re just gonna walk down there,” he nods out the window, “and back again. As slow as you like, ‘n we turn back when?”

“Whenever I want,” you whisper, nodding.

“Whenever you want, darlin’. Just say the word, alright? Sound good?”

You nod, blinking away the strain of tears across your vision. Your knee bounces, the metal buckles on your boots clinking in the footwell.

Joel rubs his thumb against your cheek. Lifts your free hand and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “I am so proud of you,” he mumbles against them, like scoring it into the bone.

You fill your cheeks, flattening your lips together, and he pulls on his door handle.

Five paces from the car, you realize how cold it is. The bitter air snaps at your cheeks, drags the salty tears from your eyes. Joel quickly fixes the collar of your jacket and pulls your scarf over your face.

“You bring gloves?” he asks.

Your head shakes in response.

“Here.” He fishes in the pockets of his tan jacket for a dark brown pair, flicking his fingers for you to hold your quivering hands out. He slips them on, all too big for you, and then knots his fingers through yours and leads you on down the sloping backroad.

Bordered by tall trees on either side, you feel secluded and hidden from the rest of the world. It fills you with equal parts comfort and terror: nobody else is here. No one can see your vacant eyes, the wet stain of fallen tears on your cheeks. Not the vice grip you have on your boyfriend or the weak quiver of your voice.

And at the same time: nobody else is here. No people, no sign of life. Just an isolated track, the looming trees overhead, the squelch of muck and the bite of fall for company.

Joel matches your pace, strolling along by your side with your arm through his and his hand resting on top of yours. He catches your glances over your shoulder, sees the jittery movements of your head as you scan the scene around you, and pats the back of your hand tenderly.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You fill your lungs with a chilly gulp of air, pushing it back out again as steadily as you can.

“And again.”

You repeat the exercise, your chest swelling against your buttoned up coat.

“You’re doin’ great,” he says, looking down at you. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m – Yeah, I’m just…” you twist back to search for the wooden gate, “…can’t see the truck anymore.”

“’s right there, promise ya. You wanna go back?”

He pauses, and your boots scuff to a halt on the stony terrain. You chew the inside of your cheek, eyebrows arching to release more tears from between your lashes. “No,” you breathe, “I wanna try to go further.”

“Then let’s try to go further. Yeah?”

You nod, setting off when you realize he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

The fields on either side of you are strung with a thick blanket of mist from one end to the other, masking the trees at the opposite side and obscuring the line between earth and sky. Your body close to Joel’s, your heartbeat attempting to match the steady pace of his, you feel safe, protected. The promise that you can call it a day whenever your body begins to weigh too much, whenever your lungs begin to falter.

Somewhere between the thinning of the hedgerows, another slanted, shabby gate materializes. Its crisscross panels and worn wooden posts separating you from the first company in your twenty-minute walk.

“Joel,” you call, loosening your grip on his arm and wandering over to the long, dewy grass towards a chestnut horse, a sliver of white fur diving deep between her eyes.

She slowly thumps over, huge hooves sinking deep into the soft dirt. Her long tail swishing, navy rug wrapped around her midriff. She docks at the gate, puffing a heavy breath – hot, thick clouds shooting from each nostril.

“Hi,” you say quietly, lifting a floppy-gloved hand for her to sniff. “Joel?” you say again, glancing down at her swollen belly, the low droop of the rug. “I think she might be pregnant.”

She tosses her head up, ears flicking, and nuzzles into the soft material of Joel’s glove. You feel her wrinkled muzzle, the strong, solid bridge of her nose. She blinks slowly; huge, deep brown eyes twinkling in the late-morning light, and you swear she’s trying to communicate something to you.

“Hey, girl,” Joel says, running a careful hand down her mane.

The horse sighs serenely, eyes flitting between the two of you. Her nostrils flare gently, light brown lashes fluttering. You tilt your head, stroking her and letting her teeth graze the sleeve of your jacket. Her bulky head turns to-and-fro, glancing up and down the trail you’re stood on, contently waiting for the passage of time. Enjoying her view from the misty field before it all changes again.

Unexpected and unwelcome, the absence of compression in your chest suddenly makes itself known. Dread spills into your lungs, thick like tar. You turn on your heel and cast Joel one fleeting glance.

He catches it, and without missing a beat, asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Is that okay?”

“’s more ‘n okay, baby. You did so good today. Didn’t she?” he asks the horse, who huffs another hot breath. Joel tosses a thumb towards her. “See?”

You step back over to the animal, now preparing to wander back on home, and give her one last tender stroke. She blinks twice, tosses her head a final time, and her broad body turns, thudding off back up the slope.

As he links your arms again, Joel blinks down at you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting.

“What?” you ask, shyly.

“Look at you,” he says, nudging your shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You’re smilin’.”

Autumn flashes by as Joel drives you home – ginger and bronze and honey and cinnamon blurring into one as you pass them by. You settle back against the headrest, moving with the sway of the truck, your tired fingers tracing blind shapes on Joel’s palm.

Nature is burning. Perhaps dying is too harsh a term. Burning in preparation for the winter, when it will lay dormant and restful. Quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Bland, save for the sparkle of frost on your windowpanes. The droplets of beauty laced through, the little reminders that not all has been lost.

I am burning right now, the earth says, but wait until you see what I can become.

The days will turn to night. The sun will tear the sky to tatters, set the whole thing fucking ablaze, go down in a battle stained in red and orange and deep, dark blue – and she will still return, spilling golden all over the horizon. She always does.

The clouds will cover overhead, dampening the color on earth. The blues will fade to gray, the yellows will undoubtedly pale. And then the sky will clear, when it is ready; the clouds will break in two to let a ribbon of cerulean burst through.

The leaves will fall to the ground and feed the soil; new ones will sprout from buds left in their wake. The ground will thaw, will soften again in time to welcome the push of daisies and burst of heather. The horse will foal, the birds will sing to their babies, the buzz of insects will irritate your ears; the rivers will gush and the trees will sway and you will be okay again.

You will be okay again.

[blackhairedjjun]

the yearning club - c.bg

pairing: choi beomgyu x gn reader | genre / tropes: fluff, only a little bit of angst, misunderstanding trope, implied university au (if you squint), best friends to lovers, kissing in the rain | word count: 921 | warnings: none, this is just unbelievably cheesy lmao

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - RAIN: sender reveals their love for the receiver while they’re both standing outside in the pouring rain. (requested by @boba-beom: “a misunderstanding(?) trope where you and gyu were becoming distant because you thought he was seeing someone but it was just a friend and he confesses to you outside your house in the rain”)

author's notes: hi smiles! this request is so classic romance aaaa sdklfjksldf i got a little carried away w this! but this was very fun to write, i hope you like it <3

the rain pours unceasingly outside your bedroom window, the sound like white noise. it nearly drowns out the playlist you’re listening to through cheap earbuds, the music itself already muffled from the duvet you wrapped around yourself in bed. still, the noise doesn’t drown out the thoughts you’re trying to distract yourself from. 

it’s useless to worry, your rational side says. beomgyu and yui would have canceled their plans anyway because of the rain. 

but what if they decided to move their date indoors? your heart objects. or they could be dancing in the rain together...

you curl up into yourself and screw your eyes shut, listening to the playlist beomgyu made for you. though you try not to imagine your best friend 一 the same best friend you’ve been in love with for as long as you can remember 一 dancing in the rain with the friend who said she would ask him out, the mental image is hard to erase. it feels more real than anything you’ve imagined. even as you shut your eyes more tightly, you can practically hear beomgyu’s voice.

the voice is a little too real...

“y/n!”

you jolt up from your bed when you realize that you can, in fact, hear beomgyu screaming your name through the downpour. you rush out of your room, forgetting to grab an umbrella, and throw your door open to find him indeed out in the street, so drenched that his hair and clothes cling to his form.

“beomgyu?!”

“y/n! you heard me!” despite being soaked and shivering in the rain, beomgyu looks radiant. his smile spreads across his whole face, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“are you crazy?! it’s raining! you’re drenched, gyu!”

“i’m sorry, y/n! i couldn’t wait any longer! i 一 i have to tell you something!”

“you couldn’t just call me?!”

“no, this is important!”

you run out into the street yourself, not caring about the rain soaking every inch of your skin and clothes, and grab beomgyu by the shoulders. “whatever it is, you can do it insi一”

“i love you!”

he’s still smiling like a lovestruck fool. the rainfall does nothing to hide the shine in his eyes, nor the blush that starts to spread across his face. somehow he’s shimmering in the rain, and despite the wet locks of hair clinging to his forehead he looks beautiful. 

“i love you,” he says again. his voice is quieter but somehow louder that the torrent pouring down on the both of you.

you blink and your eyes go wide. you’re so stunned that his confession doesn’t even register in your mind properly. you hear i love you, i love you, i love you echoing in your head, but it takes a few moments for its meaning to sink in.

“b-but... yui... your date...”

“date?” beomgyu tilts his head at you.

“i heard her say she would finally ask out the guy she’s in love with. i thought that guy... was you...”

he tilts his head back in a long laugh, not mocking but relieved. your heart stops for a moment at the sound. the rain soaks his hair and face even more.

“no, she asked out that guy in her sociology class. y’know, the one she’s actually in love with.”

“so she doesn’t...”

“of course not, y/n.” beomgyu steps closer to your and pushes away a wet lock of hair clinging to your face. your heart stops again, and you find yourself gazing into his eyes. “yui and i, we called ourselves the yearning club. we made a bet that we would confess to the ones we loved at the end of this week, so today’s the last day.” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “and the one i loved... is you.”

you let out a giggle that turns into laughter, then just as quickly turns into sobs of relief. your tears mix with the raindrops, nearly blurring out your vision. “gyu... i really thought...”

“sorry i was too shy to tell you.” his smile is smaller now, reminding you of the shy smile he had when you first met. “i didn’t know if you一”

“i love you too.”

you wipe your tears away with the back of your hand, useless as the gesture is, and meet beomgyu’s eyes again. at that moment it becomes clear to you: the shine in his eyes is his affection.

your best friend’s eyes go wide and he takes another step towards you. his forehead rests on yours. “you love me...?”

“i love you.”

“y/n...”

you can do nothing more but nod and lean towards him.

your lips part and he takes the invitation to kiss you. his lips are soft, and you taste both his lip balm and something saltier 一 is it the rain, or did he cry too? 一 and you feel firm hands bringing you closer still. despite the rain soaking both of you, you feel warm, both from his body enveloping yours and the new feeling blooming in your chest.

he pulls apart from you just to gaze at you, and you feel your face grow warm at the way he admires your every feature. then he pulls you back into his embrace and the two of you sway in the rain, with you smiling into the crook of his neck. each raindrop now seems like a blessing from the heavens themselves.

you’ve never loved the rain more than you did at that moment.

[thestrangesthell]

"Let's get married on your favourite holiday."

"Will you marry me on Halloween?"

"That's in two days!"

I re-watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (casually, this time) and ended up slowly descending down another theory stairwell.

Rory's pathetic proposal uncovers a previously-unknown (though unsurprising) fact about Lydia:

Halloween is her favourite holiday.

While this detail comes as a shock to absolutely no one, it triggered a brand-new headcanon to emergency land straight into my brain.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice could have been set at literally any time of year. The season has very little impact on the plot (with the exception of adding to the overall atmosphere and aesthetic). The main driving force is a few comedic gags with the Shrink Heads, Trick-or-Treaters and sets up the plot device for Astrid to fall head-first into Jeremy's trap.

Why does that matter?

Well, let's talk "psychic" connections.

Now, whether you believe Betelgeuse truly has a "psychic connection" with Lydia or not, it's fair to say the man is 100% spying on her.

Black and white motifs appear throughout the movie, insinuating a persistent presence of Betelgeuse. The first time we see this is during the Ghost House footage. A painting can be seen on the back wall and, in the night-vision camera, appears to be black and white stripes (or wiggles - if we're going to get really specific).

Again, we see black and white stripes on the man in the audience (whom Lydia "mistakes" for Betelgeuse) and later with the clown costume kid at Astrid's school.

Lydia also outrightly says:

"I feel this [his] presence."

There's not much more I can say here to convince you that Betelgeuse is an omni-present false protagonist.

The long and short of this point is that Betelgeuse is constantly checking up on Lydia. Whether it's to make her see him, sense him, miss him - it's all a part of his plan. The key thing is that he is able to do it.

Now, let's jump back to Rory's shit attempt at a proposal.

In this scene, Rory specifies Halloween is Lydia's favourite holiday. If we consider that fact that Betelgeuse is omni-present, he learns this too (although I'd place a lot of money on the fact he already knew and/or assumed this).

Now, let's jump in the line again, but this time, to the scene where Lydia summons Betelgeuse.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

After confirming that Lydia's daughter "is screwed," Betelgeuse bargains with Lydia for something in return in exchange for his help.

No where in this scene does Betelgeuse suggest or directly insinuate marriage. He simply asks for a way "to get away from her [Delores] permanently."

This could range from any number of things from Lydia's help putting a stop to Delores' plans to an outright exorcism.

It's Lydia who assumes that marriage is what he is after.

But look at him. He isn't going to complain. The man is delighted.

Anyway.

My point is that Betelgeuse must know that Lydia is engaged. Rather than make it awkward for her, he lets her make the call as to whether or not marriage is on the table.

Although I'm sure he also knows she's not exactly enthralled by the prospect of marrying Rory.

Now, let's cut to the wedding itself.

"If I don't do it now, I'm never gonna do it!"

I can't help but wonder, was Lydia talking about marriage in general, her marriage to Rory, or her marriage to Betelgeuse here.

(Side note: I headcanon that Lydia never got married. Not even to Richard. But that's a post for another day...)

After making make Rory make a fool of himself (say that three times fast), Betelgeuse sets the scene. He knows time isn't on their side, (yet still sings 90% of MacArthur Park like a lovesick idiot) and does some very specific things that round off my entire point:

He changes Lydia's original dress to something more of Lydia's taste. We know he was present while Lydia and Rory talked wedding plans in Charle's study, so we can assume he also saw what Rory ordered in from Soho.

He pulls out a lipsynch/floatation number à la Jump In The Line (which Lydia begs the Maitlands to do in the 1988 movie).

He gives her his literal heart.

And (most important to my point), he "crashes" Lydia and Rory's wedding to make sure it still takes place on her favourite holiday.

The wedding in Beetlejuice (1988) is as romantic as it is slow and steadily paced. That is to say, it's a complete shit show.

Betelgeuse is a manic mess of pleaseletmeoutintothelivingworldpleasepleaseplease and rushes everything in order to get his freedom. The idiot even forgets to have a ring at hand...or, ya know...finger.

Another sidenote: While I (personally) DO believe he has some type of strong feeling for Lydia in the first movie, he clearly wants his freedom more than a wife. He's been hurt by love before and literally snorts at the idea that he has to get married in order to get out "for good."

So...why is Halloween so important?

It's a day that's special and meaningful to Lydia.

And Betelgeuse is trying to make the wedding special and meaningful to her.

With a dress she would love, a song, floating in the air with her, calling her "one of the loves of my [his] life", taking it slow, throwing in a cheeky head spin to keep it strange and unusual - doing it all on Halloween.

He pulls out every single stop to make it as perfect as he possibly can.

Plus, if my headcanon that Lydia has never gotten married is true, the least Betelgeuse can do is embarrass Rory even further and make his attempt look even more pathetic.

So...yeah. Halloween was more than just a spooky setting. In my heart, anyway.

Happy Halloween 🎃

[decibly]

Maddie had been out for a walk when it happened. Because Jack had been injured by Phantom because of a piece of flying debris in a ghost fight yesterday (she would never understand the infatuation the Casper High students had with such a monster) she had left her ghost hunting gear at home so he could better defend himself. That, and it was nice to just get out of the hazmat every once in a while.

She was regretting those choices now, as she carefullly surveyed the swirling shades of spooky greens and purples surrounding her. The most likely thing that had just happened was that she had just ended up in the Ghost Zone by walking through a portal, either a natural one or one caused by a ghost with the intent of trapping her. It could also be some sort of ghostly illusion, but Maddie couldn’t think of any particular reasons a ghost that could create illusions would have made one like this, instead of something like tricking her into something like thinking her family was in danger. That possibilty didn’t seem at all likely, so she discarded it.

Maddie stayed there, floating, unsure of how to move through the etcoplasm-tainted air. She must’ve been there for about three hours, constantly creating and dismissing plans that all had no chance of working. Eventually, she just started looking around, trying to see if there was anything even remotely helpful. 

As Maddie scanned her surroundings, searching for some sort of exit, she couldn’t help but notice a slowly growing black speck on the horizon. Instinctively, she reached for her blaster, but only found a spare wrist ray. Maddie quickly slipped it on, and aimed it in the direction of whatever ghost was coming over to do who-knows-what to her. If she got out of this alive, she was never leaving the house without at least a basic blaster ever again.

Maddie squinted her eyes so much they were almost screwed shut in order to view the ghost better and possibly identify it. Just as she noticed the white hair, they ghost seemingly put on a vicious burst of speed, almost crashing into her. Maddie fired her wrist ray on instinct, causing the ghost to stumble just as it reached her.

“OW!” Phantom called out. “Not cool, M- Maddie!”

“Phantom,” she growled out.

“Woah, what’s with all the horrible hostility?” It grinned. “See what I did there? Alliteration!”

Maddie ignored the poor attempt to make itself seem likable. It should have figured out by now that she was wise to its tricks, but apparently not. “You injured my husband.”

Phantom frowned. “What? When?”

“Yesterday, during–”

“But that was Skulker! Sure, technically I broke those bleachers, but he was the one who shot me into them! Are you seriously going to blame me for that?”

“It’s not like you tried to stop it. Besides, wouldn’t it be a good outcome for you if one of us were injured?”

“I had no idea he was even there, why would I– well, this is just going to go in circles forever if we let it. Look, to cut this short, do you want a ride back home?”

Maddie glared at the ghost. “No.”

Phantom groaned, dragging its hand down its face. “I’m going to rephrase that, because I don’t think you’ll listen to me under any other circumstances. Let me take you back to the portal you made so that your kids will see you again.”

Her already-intense glare deepened. “Don’t you dare bring my kids into this.”

Phantom floated back about a foot or two, hands held up in mock surrender. “I’m not trying to! I’m just saying, as a fellow teenager, I’d be pretty upset if one of my parents went mysteriously missing in some alternate dimension, and your kids don’t deserve that,” he said placatingly.

Maddie scowled to give her glaring muscles a rest. “You’re damn right they don’t.”

Phantom grinned. “So can I take you home, then?”

This time, it was Maddie’s scowl that deepened. “Still no, ghost.”

It sighed. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice, then.”

Phantom blinked out of the visible light spectrum, and barely a second and a half later she was hoisted up at an awkward angle and flying away at high speed, back-to-back with Phantom in some sort of reverse piggyback. 

“STOP, SPECTER!” she screamed, trying to twist her body so that she could shoot her kidnapper. Unfortunately, it took her twenty minutes, which was far too long. By then, when she finally got a half-decent shot in that did more damage than just causing Phantom to flinch and actually managed to free her, the portal was in sight. When Maddie turned around to hopefully do more damage, even with her limited arsenal, she saw it and stood (well, floated) stock still.

“Did you just–”

“Take you where I promised to? Yes, yes I did.” That ever-present grin was plastered across Phantom’s face.

“Impossible, ghosts always lie. You must’ve–”

Phantom cut her off again by vanishing and appearing behind her once more. “Nope, I didn’t! Anyways, bye!”

Maddie was shoved into the swirling green.

[bullet-prooflove]

Taken!Series Part Four: Meth Mountain - Angel Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @wakeama @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @emily2003alzaga @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @expir3dl0v3  @appreciatelove @the-wandering-lunatic @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @stressed-chas @@daydreaming-belle @est1887 @prettyinpunk85 @adaydreamaway08 @thanossexual @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @crimeshowjunkie @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @sclitvdes @justreblogginfics

Taken!Series:

Part One: Mother - Tragedy strikes when Angel leaves you and Valeria alone for the evening.

Part Two: Bleeding Out - Angel returns home to discover what happened at the house.

Part Three: Touch & Go - Angel discovers where Valeria was taken.

It’s a clusterfuck.

Almost the worst-case scenario that Angel can think of because Meth Mountain, it’s a law unto itself. It’s a self-sustainable settlement, hosted and frequented by addicts and people on the fringes of society. It’s wild and unpredictable.

Bishop has managed to reach an accord with the local authorities. The police won't go up there but the M.C can, they won’t interfere with that so long as the M.C don’t bring trouble down the mountain. Nobody wants an infant on Meth Mountain, they all know it won’t end well.

The thought of Valeria being raised with a bunch of meth heads destroys Angel; he can’t imagine what Skye was thinking but then that’s the point isn’t it? Everything she has done up to this point has been impulsive, Skye doesn’t think ahead.

They split into two men teams, it’s easier to cover more ground that way, especially amongst the ramshackle dwellings. This early in the morning most of the addicts are out of it, too high to question why armed men in hoodies are slipping in and out of their dwellings.

Angel and EZ have just cleared their first assigned section when Angel hears the cries of his daughter. He would know that sound anywhere, it’s different this time though, rawer, more agonising. He knows every single one of the noises his child makes and this, this sounds anguished. It tears at him deep inside, clawing through his heart so the blood leaks out into his chest.

He looks to EZ, who tilts his head towards the next structure along. It’s barely more than a piece of corrugated iron with flowers painted on it and tarpaulin. EZ goes first, his gun peeking through the plastic sheeting that acts as a door, Angel follows up the rear, the sound of Valeria’s cries intensifying as he steps inside.

His gaze comes to rest upon the baby, his tiny daughter wrapped up in several bath towels, squared away in blue and white cardboard box that used to contain oranges. The diaper bag that Hank’s mom made has been left untouched alongside of it.

Angel lowers his weapon, tucking it into the waistband of his trousers before he steps into the mess, his boots crunching over the fast food wrappers. He reaches for Valeria, her face screwed up and red, tears leaking down her cheeks. Her nappy is heavy, and her tiny stomach rumbles loudly, he remembers you feeding Valeria before he left, he guesses she hasn’t eaten since then, almost six hours ago.

“Hey, hey.” He whispers as he clasps his daughter close, his lips brushing over her featherlight hair. “I got you, Daddy’s got you.”

He slings the diaper bag over his shoulder, before turning to face EZ. His brother indicates towards the bundle of clothes on the sofa. It takes him a second to realise it’s a person, slumped across the couch.

Skye…

She’s pale, her skin white with a blueish tinge, there’s a needle sticking out of her arm, a tourniquet tied just above it.

“She’s in rigour. She’s been dead for hours, looks like an OD. She probably put the needle in as soon as she got here.” EZ tells him, shaking his head before meeting Angel’s gaze. “What do you wanna do with her?”

Valeria’s already starting to settle, her sobs turning to whimpers as Angel sways gently, shushing her.

“Nothing.” He says, his palm smoothing over the baby’s back. “Let the natives have her.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dreamerimpossible]

Imagine if Alex Delarge burst into your planning to rob and kill you. But you pull the “Wait before you kill me” line and you can finish the image with your imagination 😘

Well, I hope this is worthy of what you wanted! hahah

Warnings: +18 content, dubcon, typical canon violence, Nadsat attempt, dark content.

An unusual noise distracted you from your tasks; your eyes instinctively went to the window outside your room, and as you processed what you were seeing, your dominant hand involuntarily dropped your pencil, evidencing your nervousness and vulnerability. You were screwed, you thought. You had heard about the brutality of those individuals who ransacked houses, taking whatever they wanted without asking permission. And yet, you forgot to close a window.

Just one.

You cautiously got up from your desk, sneaking a peek behind the door, fervently hoping to rule out misfortune. However, your heart skipped a beat when you heard whispers coming from the room next to yours. You swallowed heavily and stepped back cautiously, your hand gripping the handle and closing the door slowly, your heart in your throat and your legs trembling, mentally praying that it wouldn't squeak. You thought you would be saved; there were only a few seconds left, and you could hear the footsteps getting closer, but it was so close. Just a moment, and you were safe. So when someone's foot prevents you from closing the door completely, you are startled. Your eyes refused to look at his face; you breathed heavily in your own place, with the naive hope that he would leave you alone.

With a push, brutal like himself, he opened the door completely, making you release the lock and move away from the entrance to your room. Despite your state, you looked at him. A man dressed completely in white, except for his boots and hat. He looked at you mockingly through his mask. You were lost; you knew that he didn't just want to steal some valuable object from you; he wanted more. He wanted twisted fun, to take advantage of you until he got tired and make you never forget it.

In a rush, you ran to get out of your room, but instantly, you felt his arms wrap around your waist to pull you roughly towards him. You struggled and screamed for someone to save you. But he just laughed in your ear, knowing that he had already won; you were too weak to break free from his hold. Besides, the droogs were outside your house. So you couldn't escape.

"Come on, come on, looks like we’ve got a good devotchka here, eh? Don’t be a coward; it isn’t going to hurt you. Let’s have a malenky bit of fun."

You cried, inconsolable; you wanted to run away, find a way to knock him out, and leave. Your struggles were useless and pathetic, which made you sob even louder in an attempt to dissipate your chest aching with anguish. He pushed you to the floor, and you fell face downwards, moaning as your head hit the material. He turned you around, so you were looking at him from your vulnerable position. He took off his hat, imitating an extravagant stage act, throwing it somewhere in the room. As he amused himself with your sobs, you tried to recognize him. It was an obvious desperate survival strategy.

He took off his suspenders and unbuttoned his pants. Then, like a fleeting and precise thought, his name echoed in your mind.

“Alex?” You whispered, between your tremors of terror. “Alex DeLarge?”

Alex tilted his head to one side; behind his imposing mask, there was only the mischievous glint in his eyes, which glimpsed unknown intentions. His figure approached you, a dark smile positioned itself on his features. He took off his mask and threw it back into some corner. He was thinking, staring at you, scrutinizing you.

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked, shaking your head repeatedly as he continued with his eyes expectant and thoughtful, giving no non-verbal cue to suggest an internal thought. “Wait… before you kill me.”

You sat up, crouching, in front of him. You avoided looking at him to hide your embarrassment. While he hadn’t made his intentions clear, you needed to try and save yourself somehow. And you remembered their looks, those eyes that undressed you when they saw you pass by the Korova Milkbar were not your imagination. Today, he had come to take what he wanted. And he would. And you would let him, if it meant nothing worse happened. You moved closer to him, your face at the height of his crotch, your hands reaching towards his manhood.

"Look, look, what we’ve got here... a good, obedient, and submissive devotchka, eh? What do you say, darling? Going to give a little bit of the old in-out-in-out to good old Alex, your humble and noble servant?" He asked with theatricality and condescension.

You nodded, as if your body dominated you. As if you already knew it was the only way out. He pulled down his pants and pulled up his shirt, revealing his prominent erection to you. You tried to look away in embarrassment, but his grip on your chin forced you to keep your gaze. He tossed his cane aside and replaced it with a knife. The blade ripped through your clothes, easily tearing through your underwear as well. His remaining hand pulled at your hair, forcing you, once again, to keep your eyes on him.

He leered at your naked body, and the expression on his face reflected pleasure at your frightened expression. He put the knife out of your reach and grabbed you by both hands, pinning you to the floor. It was difficult to struggle; his legs encased yours, and your fingers were trapped between his. You were breathing heavily; your nipples were erect. You assumed it was because of the cold, but you were sure that for Alex it meant a sign of pleasure and enjoyment. You swallowed and bit your lip to keep from sobbing.

Alex's cock entered you hard, thrusting into you at first, making you suppress a moan of pain at the sudden sensation. The lewd sound of skin colliding against each other could be heard in the room. Your body was betraying you, making you feel things you didn't want. The pain was long gone, cruelly replaced by a dangerously pleasurable sensation. You insulted yourself, your own body, for doing this to you. You repressed the moans that involuntarily came out of your mouth; meanwhile, your cheek was wet with tears whose origin you no longer knew, because you were extremely confused with yourself. Alex increased his thrusts and his grip on your wrists. His body began to move at an uneven pace, indicating that he was already close to his release.

He rested his entire body on top of you and immobilized your legs with his and came inside you while you felt him press his pelvis against yours so that all his semen stayed inside you, without wasting a drop. You closed your eyes, unable to react correctly to the duality of your thoughts and your body's response. You felt relief when he got up and walked away from you. You thought it was all over; however, in the distance, you could hear police sirens. He fidgeted a little; you thought he would run to the others. However, he was in a crude mood today. He positioned himself between your legs and manipulated them so that you were spread open in front of him.

You looked at him doubtfully.

You suppressed an accidental moan at the sudden entry of his fingers into you.

"Make your good old Alex proud, and give those old and pervy ones a show they’ll never forget, my devotchka," he whispered with a mischievous smile. "Come on, I’m just your humble guest, right, right, right?"

[mugiwara-lucy]

Now some may be wondering why I’ve been so gung ho on Early Voting/Mail In Voting? The reason is because as we’ve seen in the last couple of weeks Trump and his cult are going to no doubt try and steal the election as evidenced by them trying by to make Nebraska a “winner take all state”, having Georgia do hand ballots, keeping Kamala’s name off the ballots in Montana (while miraculously leaving on RFK Jr’s 🙄) and trying to pass that “Save Act nonsense” along with Trump shit talking our troops that vote overseas.

All of what I mentioned is ACTUAL election interference. Thankfully all of them except the Georgia hand ballot thing have been shoved to the side although even that is being contested next week so hopefully that gets scrapped too. The reason this is actual election interference is because counting hand ballots by hand is no doubt mentally exhausting but you’re bound to make an error (and you can believe MAGA will make an “error” 😒) and you’d know this if you’ve ever done inventory at work, you’d know this. The Save Act screws married women since youzmd have to have the same name you were born with and making Nebraska a “winner take all” state would have NO DOUBT been an unfair advantage for Trump and as for leaving off Kamala’s name in Montana, there is NO excuse for that. Funny how the party of “law and order” is involved with all this untrustworthy nonsense. 🥴

But yeah sorry to segue in all that, I just wanted to let you know the shit MAGA is putting on is and how we can best combat them and I feel mail in ballots and early voting is a GREAT counter to that! Also I feel it worth noting that Trump said if he gets in office, he’s putting Elon Musk in charge of the government and both say they will do away with both mail in ballots and early voting. Gee I wonder why 😒

But yeah anyways, here are the Early Voting Dates:

And here’s your link to request a mail in ballot! Though please keep in mind when you get your mail in ballot, like I say, make sure to deposit it AT the USPS office! That way you can avoid MAGA mail fuckery! Here’s the link to sign up!

And well if you just wanna be old fashioned like me, here are the dates which list the deadlines and when it’s the last day to sign up to vote on November 5th as well as the link to register to vote itself.

Guys we’ve done so well and because of our hard work; Kamala has a lead in Arizona, Michigan, Nevada, Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Wisconsin. (Which is why MAGA is even more unhinged with their fuckery eye roll) but we can NOT stop here. We can NOT afford to take our feet off the breaks UNTIL Kamala wins and is in the White House. And even then this is NOT the end of Project 2025/Agenda 47/180 Transition Plan (new name same shit), it will only be delayed.

In short, PLEASE PLEASE VOTE in ANY way you can. Either Mail In (with the tip I shared), Early or ACTUAL IN DAY VOTING of November 5th!

If we fail and we get Trump….we can DEFINITELY say goodbye to voting since don’t forget two months ago he said and I quote “you won’t ever have to worry about voting again. It’ll all be fixed.” We all know what that means when he says “fixed”.

And we also enjoyed several events like Pride Month this year. With all his talk about “Christianity and going after Anti-Christians”, if he gets in, this could legitimately have been our LAST pride month.

And like I’ve always said if he gets in, he’s not leaving until he croaks and if that happens we get someone like JD Vance or Elon Musk as president.

I’m sure I don’t have to explain how HORRIFIC that would be. And keep in mind, our economy STILL hasn’t fully recovered from how bad Trump fucked us over even FOUR YEARS LATER.

So in short let’s NOT blow this. Thank You 🙏

[privateanxieties]

forget my mercy, take my blame (chapter 4)

Summary: You are the same person you were a week ago, only now presenting as you truly are: hiding nothing, free of struggle. With your back to the sun and him before you, your eyes are black and resolute.

Words: 2.6K (graphic depictions of violence)

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SERIES MASTERLIST

-------------------------

What do people think about in their final moments? 

You assume it depends on the amount of time they have, as well as the manner of death. People have disagreed on the subject of an afterlife for as long as they've been able to contemplate it, but the moment of death itself has seldom been the focus of debate. Of all the myriad ways that things can end, when the line is crossed and the numbers are tallied, you suppose anyone would say that all death, each one that has ever been and ever will be, is either violent or lucky. 

If there is struggle, there is violence. If there is not, a person is asleep, much like Sam is as you peer down at him. 

It's been interesting, this night, but as dawn looms over the horizon, your mood darkens almost in revolt. You can neither do this the way you would have back at the house, nor summon enough derangement to keep him in storage until nighttime returns in a little over seventeen hours, even if the setting permits a bit of mania. The desert looms over Tule Valley, shadowed by white rocks to the North and shapely knolls to the South, a barren nothingness stretching out for miles. Yes, nobody will find you here. No, you will not drag this out any longer. You already shot one more man tonight than you were planning to, though admittedly it was his own fault. 

Frank.  

You don't know what he was talking about, but hell if you cared to listen. The instant that he blocked that door with his body, your finger squeezed the trigger it had been glued to since you'd laid eyes on him. Served him right for sticking his nose in other people's business. If he'd just been a misguided stranger, you'd have let it go. Clearly, a few too many screws were loose in his head too, but he underestimated just how many were rattling around in yours. The answer was: enough to shoot him in the shoulder and take his van into the desert, with Sam out cold in the back like he'd said. At least he didn't lie about that, because you'd have gone back to shoot him again. 

The dark sky gives way to a crack of indigo in the far distance, and you push off the van's back door to approach the man lying on the ground several feet away. Given he's still wearing his server uniform from the diner, you guess Frank must've nabbed him after his shift. There's no visible injury on his person besides a little redness around the clavicles, indicating knockout via strangulation. Good — at least he won't be woozy from head trauma, because you'd like to talk to him. 

His face is plain, forgettable to anyone that isn't you. Twenty-two years old and not going to get any older. You scoff at his terminal stupidity. Having this much power over someone's life should come with a degree of somberness, but you're tired and cranky from hauling Sam out of the van and dragging Frank away from the door. You've done more manual labor than intended tonight, and it's not like you've had much sleep in the past week to begin with. You spare another look at Sam's figure, cheek pressed into the ground and breathing even. Nap time over. 

You don't have a knife, so you resort to grasping his left pinky and pressing down on the nail bed until he stirs. It takes around a minute for him to awaken fully, by which time you've stood up and retrieved your gun. You move a few paces away. For a moment you wonder what your face must look like, but Sam isn't close enough to catch all the nuances in your expression as he blinks at you with furrowed brows. He coughs twice but finds his voice pretty quickly. 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

Maybe your face is forgettable too. 

"Where the fuck am I?" he demands with a weak cry, voice hoarse from the treatment his neck received. He tries to get to his feet, but he barely turns onto his side before you let off a shot near his shoulder. 

"Don't get up, Sam." 

The gesture yields the intended effect. He stops and scrambles onto his back, scooting away from you on his heels and elbows as his body kicks up dust. You point the gun at his head, silently commanding him to stop moving. He does. You close the distance to what it was before. Sam glares up at you, but he hasn't had the time in his short life to build up any menacing qualities. There's still some roundness in his face from delayed puberty, because while his documents say twenty-two, the man in front of you looks barely eighteen. Some people just look younger than they are. 

"What do you want?" 

A hint of the stutter he had the first time you met him returns for that simple question. It's not one you've personally ever asked when finding yourself in similar situations in the past. No reason to play stupid and waste everyone's time. You raise an eyebrow. 

"You don't know?" 

A look of recognition passes over his features as he studies you, but where you expect fear or nervousness, something akin to vexation appears instead. His lips curl upwards. He's displeased and ready to make it known. 

"Look, I passed my fucking test! Tell Emi I'm ready. He doesn't need to do this shit no more," he snarls. 

New information. Hm. 

"So you don't know me," you say vaguely, studying him in return. 

"The fuck do I care who you are? What, are you some new bitch he's fucking this month? It ain't gon' last, I tell you that. Just do whatever he said to so I can go home. Got enough shit on my plate." 

There's delayed puberty of the brain too, it seems. He hasn't caught on that you are not who he thinks, but interestingly, the person he thinks you are is expected to behave the way you do. He's been manhandled, kidnapped and brought to the wilderness to stare down the barrel. He does so in defiance, not an ounce of fear in his eyes. Tests. Readiness. Emi. 

You put some fear right into his kneecap. 

Sam howls his agony into the expanse of the desert as the bullet tears through cartilage and exits through soft flesh. He grabs at his leg with both hands, rocking forward several times as if to get up. He's yet to understand that he'll never use that leg again, you think, because he does try to scramble to his feet again. It's haphazard and desperate, but it grants him valuable knowledge: he falls back on his ass in a stupor, looking at his body and trying to understand its betrayal. He can feel the pain, yet he can't feel anything below the knee. 

"Are you a good listener, Sam? I can tell you're not a good observer. Maybe we can change that," you say evenly, waiting for him to register your words over the adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

He looks up at you and yowls something fierce. From what you can see in the awakening darkness, there are tears gathered in his eyes. The fire burning in them is different now, defiance waning. 

"My brother's going to fucking kill you!" he screams. It travels along Tule Valley with its dips and mounds, only to be swallowed up by the sheer expanse of nothing. He has found out who you are not. Now, to refresh his memory. 

"You should be more concerned with what I'm going to do, to tell you the truth." 

He fumbles over the hole in his knee and wrestles with control of his ligament to no avail, and if you bear witness for a minute or two, it's not something you're ashamed of. A long sigh folds your body into itself as you crouch down to his level, keeping a knee on the ground for stability. Sam's whimpers have lost some of their intensity, and for a moment you watch him watch the blood that flows from his leg into the reddish sand, creating black splotches in the low light that resemble the ones on your front door. The desert is much colder than your neighborhood. 

"I've hurt some people," you tell him, commanding his attention before he goes into shock. He lifts his eyes to your face, and suddenly he looks like even more of a child than he did before. You nod both to yourself and him in the wake of your statement, as if to confirm you've really said it. Truths uttered inside a wasteland can be bent into unflattering shapes by something as inoffensive as a breeze.

"I have. Nobody that didn't deserve it, I promise you that. But I've never done this before," you continue, head tilted with a frown. "I've never let anyone go who I knew I shouldn't." 

"I don't know what you're talking about, you crazy bitch! Look at what you did to my fucking leg!" 

His voice is scratched, not yet broken. 

"You've hurt some people too, haven't you? Only, they were good people. Right?" 

The spell of dry wind descending from the white rocks to the North has travelled a long way to encounter you both, howling through the valley with a final effort to leave its mark on the wilderness. Its tendrils are harsh and nearly icy right before dawn, sending one last caress through the realm that will soon be transformed under a ball of fire. 

A flicker of recognition arises in the man's face again, and this time, he really sees you. In the absence of synthetic light, he sees your face from the same distance he did at the bakery, same hairstyle, same plain clothes. You are the same person you were a week ago, only now presenting as you truly are — hiding nothing, free of struggle. With your back to the sun and him before you, your eyes are black and resolute. You think of nothing and have no decisions to make. 

Clarity is good. 

The steel feels cold against your hand as it reaffirms its grip on the Kimber, but the trigger burns its shape into the crook of your index finger. You breathe. You pull. 

Silencer long detached, the true sound of oblivion rings out over planes and burrows into crevices, a responding hum finding its way back to the source as if the earth itself knows it has just become a tomb. You rise to your feet. A healthy adult man will take a long while to die with just one shot to the chest. That's alright. You want him to have all the mercy of the world he created. 

Four steps carry you to Sam Collins, who's a hair removed from shock. Chest rising and falling uncontrollably, it gives way to spasms and sputters both felt and heard as his fists pound the dirt against their will. The sporadic whistling produced by his lungs barely hits your ears for how delicate it is. Most of the gray of his shirt has been chased away by gravity luring his blood into the hungry earth, never to relinquish ownership. You find yourself peering down at his wide eyes and puffing cheeks and slowly get flooded with a sense of impending disquiet. 

He shouldn't get to see the sky. He shouldn't get to watch the sun rise over his last day and make the stars disappear by casting light upon them. The oranges and purples of a desert sunrise aren't for him to witness when others only get the rigid monotony of wood and steel, an endless night trapping them inside darkness before it swallows them whole. 

You wonder what he's thinking between gasping breaths and choked words. In theory, he wouldn't be thinking about anything but survival. Only if he has accepted death staring down his path can he start contemplating other things, but Sam is still young for the amount of time he has left. Youth is defiant, unafraid. It holds out the longest in the face of calamity. As he so clearly proved, youth is barely even capable of recognizing death. It either flees in the face of it or it falls quiet. 

Sam has done both. As he looks at you and you look back, there's no telling what you'll remember of him and this moment in another nineteen years, no use in searching for clues. Whatever your mind will latch onto is outside all control. What it knows of Mark Davidson is a look like a demon's and a fury like God's, and you buried them both under rock without spectacle or prejudice what feels like a lifetime ago. You remember fuel and heat, a thundering slide of earth and gravel. 

What you'll remember of Sam could be wind, just as well as it could be silence. It could be pleading eyes or a childlike face. Whatever memory will be kept, you bear witness to his struggle against ample tranquility. He's crossing over into darkness as the first rays of sun slither along the dessicated ground and towards his face, but just before his eyes are kissed by the morning light, the fire within them burns out. You remark on the color in peace. They're green. 

Clarity is good. 

.

.

. 

The downside of being undisturbed following a murder is that you aren't really sure what to do with all your clarity. The last time you did this you were behind the wheel of a stolen car too, but back then you had the benefit of mental turmoil. You weren't thinking about much more than getting away from that quarry, weren't feeling anything but guilt and fear and a pervasive sense of biblical doom. 

Now, you're maybe a little restless. Maybe a little inconvenienced. Overall, once you're done getting rid of this van and the coyotes are done getting rid of Sam's body, you don't know where you're going to plant your feet — besides Frank's dash, that is. 

Going back to your house is out of the question right now. You're not in Utah— you're in sunny California, staying with relatives and recovering from last week's events. Showing your face so soon will raise eyebrows on faces that you aren't likely to see again anyway, so there is little point in swinging by. You will have to eventually, if you want a clean break. Few things today can't be done remotely if money is no issue, but you sprung too many roots in that town and now have to sever them yourself. 

One of them is staring back at you from the phone you've just turned on for the first time in seven days, a written update from Eliza with a photo of Piper and Mae attached. The pair of rose-ringed parakeets are snuggled together on what looks to be a desk cluttered with psychology homework. You're not surprised they've taken to her so quickly as to be comfortable outside their enclosure. Eliza is a good, caring person and as gentle as they come. You don't reply to her text. 

Sifting through the flurry of notifications and emails from purveyors with whom you'd unexpectedly suspended contracts, your eyes catch on one message that is neither inquiry nor update. It's an alert from your home security system, encrypted and blinking impatiently for it to be acknowledged. It is. 

Only some forty hours too late.

.

.

-to be continued-

A/N: No Frank in this one again, sorry! But we'll get plenty real soon, and we might even get some other people we know👀 Please let me know your thoughts, I love reading them and freaking out over this story with you!

Taglist: @itwasthereaminuteago @hellskitchenswhore @theradioactivespidergwen @trashyart-y @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @marieloves-reading @daisyslibrary @trashcan-writes @mind-nine @reblogmisc3 @hufflepufe @this-is-where-i-keep-my-fic

Note: If you'd like to be tagged, reblog the previous chapters or the series masterlist! You have to interact with the story if you want to keep getting tagged for updates.

[bright-tatters]

Tatters #48

To Whom It May Concern: According to the cipher we discussed, 285 SQPIT 11 2300. I think you’ll like it. I am now as ever your committed servant, F.

It was the first level of a four-story building sandwiched between more of the same. A kerosene lamp hung on the porch over a dark-stained rocking chair. Piper knocked on the door and Fortune opened it. He was properly shaved for once, his shirtsleeves spotless, his arm band a fine sweep of silver, his vest’s oval patterning matching his white spats. He smiled, more warmly than Piper had ever seen. “Come in,” he said softly.

He squired Piper down a hallway with tolerably good-looking wallpaper into a snug living room. Overstuffed chairs surrounded a long rectangular coffee table strewn with magazines and abstract tealight stands, lit up to a cheerful glow.

“What is all this?” said Piper, staring at everything at once.

“It’s for us,” said Fortune. “The whole building, but I only decorated the first floor. Let me take your coat.”

“I…it’s…” He couldn’t explain. It made their relationship official in a way that dozens of trysts hadn’t. It was real. It would still be there when they left the building. It was, in short, impossible.

“The place is secure. My guards aren’t here, for once. There’s a revolver in the kitchen if anything comes up. I’m not personally carrying mine.”

“No, me neither,” Piper said with a dry mouth. “Commissioner Dashden is having me tailed. But I know these streets better than Alec does.”

Fortune sobered. “You’re in danger here?”

“We have some time.”

“I want to sleep with you. I mean actually lying in bed, together, overnight.”

“I know.” Piper didn’t smile.

The tealights flickered and went on, not understanding anything.

But Fortune did. “So what are we doing?” he said quietly.

“Gardening at night,” said Piper.

“What?”

“It never works.”

Fortune shook his head. “I know…we have to come up with something. We're endangering one another. We don't even like each other, philosophically. You're a hero and I am a snake. Something….”

“Something has to change. I know. So. We have to—”

“—stay here tonight,” said Fortune.

“—stop,” said Piper.

There was a calculated cozy allotment of air in the room, not enough. Piper pressed on. “Look at this, Fortune. Playing house? Running from our own friends? Writing a line at a time to keep the ghost scans off our letters? I don't even know your name.”

The whites around Fortune’s eyes were showing. “You know the only name I'll ever answer to. I have chosen you, time and again. And I will. I will.”

“Two people have approached me in the last six days with requests supposedly secured by ‘my little secret.’ It’s only going to get worse. And that’s even before they have—” he looked around—"proof. No. I'm sorry. I love you, but the distance is too much. I can work with you openly, I will work with you openly, we still have so much to do, but this…this fantasy can’t fix it.”

“I love you,” Fortune echoed. “Faithfully.”

“Come to the light,” Piper pleaded. “You’re half legitimate already, just slough off the rest of it and be a citizen. We could do this openly. Nobody would use it as, as dirt.”

Fortune screwed his eyes shut. “Come to the darkness,” he said in the resonant voice he saved for special occasions. “Forget your laws, forget the career they told you you should want. We could be together in every sense. We could silence anyone who tries to use it.”

“You know I can never do that.”

Fortune opened his eyes. They were lost, questing across Piper’s face as if hoping a moment of weakness would present itself. Something, anything to hold onto.

The impossible sat heavy between them.

“I should go,” said Piper.

“I could have you caught,” said Fortune in a new and strangled tone. “Tortured. Jailed. Killed. Strung up from the lamppost nearest your place of employment. I can do that. I can do anything.”

“No,” Piper said simply. Fortune wasn’t that man. Not to him.

And Fortune admitted it, if only with a slump of his shoulders. “Then there’s nothing else to say,” he managed.

Piper could match his aggression. Maybe it would be more fair that way. “I could have told you I’m not in love with you. Just pretended I have no conflict about ending it.”

“You could have lied to me? About that?”

“I...” Put that way, it seemed wrong. “No.”

“Then we have some final intimacy. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“You never did.” Say it. Say it. Say it. Your little secret. “Goodbye, love.”

Piper stepped back outside while his world quietly fell to pieces in the candlelight behind him. He reached up and extinguished the porch lamp. That was part of the charade, too. He had to end it before someone could use it.

He stepped onto the cold cobbled street, got his bearings by the moonlight, and started home. His tail would find him within a few streets, probably.

“Hey, old man!” Something slammed the side of Piper’s head. He turned and saw a blur of moving things, three or four of them, and the next rock hit Piper’s forehead. He reached for his revolver and didn’t have it. Something jabbed into his back and he felt an ocean of unreasoning terror running like blood through his whole body. He dropped to the cobblestones. Something ripped across and into his shirt and chest. The pain was unlike anything he had ever known. When he pushed up to get them away they slashed the back of his wrist and it followed up with another flaming pain.

Something else hit. Maybe something else after that. His dizziness turned black.

[another-dra-anew]

Jist a reminder to Hydrate before you Diedrate (unlike about half the class, who is dead).

VERY good advice from anon. i appreciate the reminder <3.. using this as an opportunity to rate different things i drink while i write.

1- Water. a great choice, but the water filter at my house is Really slow, and im really impatient, so my water bottle runs out pretty quickly. 8/10

2- Pomegranate-Cherry Juice. another solid choice, but it takes me like a week to go through 16 oz for NO good reason, which means i usually have a second drink with it, which is kinda ineffective. 7/10

3- Cherry-Vanilla-White Chocolate iced latte. heaven sent, i missed her while i was away from home. she's as beautiful as the day i lost her. 10/10

4- Caramel-Vanilla Bean blended latte. let me down a bit, i'll be honest... she got a bit less beautiful while i was gone. 7/10.

5- Eggnog-Chai mix. trying new things is good, but why did we get the Biggest bottle the store had of eggnog. if it wasn't for the fact im the best person ever, i would not be using my beloved chai concentrate to dilute the eggnog down so i can help go through it. not Horrible but i wont miss her when the bottles gone. 5/10

6- Energy Drinks (assorted). yummy taste, Always makes my stomach curl in on itself in pain. i think it needs to toughen up, but energy drinks arent as good as iced lattes, so its no huge loss. 6/1-

7-Specifically Lotus energy drinks. always so good to me, always so hard to find a place w them. theres none near where i live and my parents loaned my car out while i was gone so im kinda screwed over. ill continue to dream of her. 8/10

8- Hot Chai. such a beloved drink but ive already been sleeping sooo much lately and she's not helping. would rank higher, but for writing purposes? 7/10

9- Arizona Iced Tea. worth noting i like raspberry and lemon flavors, not that it matters, but i wanted to share my recommendations. good, but for some reason they remind me of the tumblr post of someone almost drinking a beer can that got left out, then deciding to dump it out, and realizing there was a spider inside. 7/10.

honorable mention to the ginger-citron tea i got, which i havent tried yet, but which im excited for. i need more hot drinks in my life.

maybe now that ive posted this, i'll go answer the ask i got over a year ago asking abt the kids favorite drinks. if i can find an ouijia board, maybe i'll do that...

[jmagnabo92]

GGSB Fest 2024 - A Furry Escape

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

Prompt - Puppy

After Sirius lets slip that being Padfoot helps him with his issues, Harry manages to find his own furry escape.

AO3

***

There wasn’t a lot that Sirius could do for his godson.  Especially not locked up in his family’s old home wishing he was anywhere else.  

Despite this, he can’t stand the thought of Harry looking all upset and having little happiness, so he conjures a few dog toys, turns into Padfoot and nudges Harry into the biggest open area there is.  There, he gives Harry the toy and gestures with his head for Harry to throw the toy.  

He does and Padfoot goes chasing after it, bringing it back for Harry to chuckle slightly before doing it, again.  They only manage twice more before Molly complains and Bill suggests that with their land being so … vast and out in the middle of nowhere, that they could go play there.  Especially since it would make sense that no one would attack the Weasleys given Voldemort’s in hiding due to the nonsense of the end of the tournament.  

There’s arguing, of course, before it’s finally accepted.

This leads Sirius to his first day out in weeks and he gets to spend it playing fetch with his godson.  He knows the Order thinks that he’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t care.  Anything to cheer up his godson (and himself).

Harry’s smiling and cheering as they play and that makes the day even better than he thought – his temporary freedom is nothing on Harry’s happiness. 

He loves it.

***

“Thanks, Sirius,” Harry says, sometime later.  

They’re back at Headquarters and Harry has managed to escape Molly’s cleaning shift to find him in the drawing room.  

Sirius grins at him.  “You don’t have to thank me.  I just want to help wherever I can.”

“It did help,” Harry assures him.  “Did it – er – help you?”

Sirius hums.  “Yes, escaping into Padfoot helps.  I think it’s part of why I did so well last year beyond not being here.”

“Escaping?” Harry questions.  

“Yes, I call it escaping because it’s much easier to be a dog when your thoughts and things are overwhelming,” Sirius states.  “Dogs have very stream-lined thoughts.  It helps when your mind is all over the place like mine is.”

Harry hums.  “Sounds like being a dog is exactly what I need.”

Sirius frowns, but before he could probe, Ron comes looking for him and he’s left alone, again.

What was going on?

***

What was going on would explain itself the next day when rather than finding his godson in his room – after he claimed that he just needed a nap – he’s confronted by a very familiar raven-haired puppy with green eyes and a white scar.  The puppy hadn’t previously had a scar, but he’s clearly changed since the last time.  Especially since he’s quite a bit bigger than he was as a baby.

“Oh, Harry.  Kid, when I told you that Padfoot helps me, I did not mean for you to become Snuffles, again.”

The puppy – affectionately named Snuffles by Lily – tilts his head in confusion. 

Right, he never told Harry about Snuffles.  

He approaches slowly, allowing Harry as Snuffles the chance to warn him off if he wants, but he doesn’t.  Thus, Sirius can sit beside him and pet him as he talks.

“Harry, I know that I said that being Padfoot was … easier and it is.  But I need you to know that escaping into a form you’re not able to control is dangerous.”

Snuffles paws at him as if to say he understands.  

“Therefore, I need you to try and turn back.”

Snuffles shakes his head.

“Harry, you can’t just be a puppy like this.  You’re not even an Animagus.”

Snuffles whines before jumping from the bed and taking off.  Clearly, not listening.  

Annoyed, but knowing this will be fun (at least to screw with the Order), Sirius turns into Padfoot and chases Snuffles down the stairs.  

It’s utter chaos as they run through the kitchen and make everyone crazy until someone decides to let them out of the house.

They run as Padfoot and Snuffles to the same place as before where the kids opt to play fetch with them.  

It’s fun and Sirius loves it.

Harry couldn’t be happier as he finally feels free of his worries, his only interest is chasing after Padfoot and / or the ball that they’re playing fetch with.  It’s exactly what Sirius had mentioned – streamlined thinking and a peace that he never would’ve gotten as a human.

Eventually though, he hears the whistle of Bill, who is gathering everyone to go back to the house.  

He doesn’t want to leave the park where he’s finally enjoying himself this summer.  

It’s exactly what he needs.  

Still, it’s clear that they need to head back and probably turn back, so he reluctantly falls in step beside Sirius as Padfoot and back to Headquarters. 

His furry escape is over.

***

“Hey kid,” Sirius says, once they’re both back to being humans.  “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Harry states.  He’s fiddling with one of the ball toys passing it back and forth between his hands as they were his paws.  

“Well, you managed to transfigure yourself into a puppy without trying and though it’s not the first time, it isconcerning.”

“It’s not the first time?” Harry questions, looking up at him.

Sirius shakes his head.  “We used to play as Padfoot and Snuffles when you were a baby.  We have no idea how you did it but you’d always ask for puppy time and well…”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise.  “That’s so cool.”

“It was cool… and terrifying,” Sirius admits.  “And I’ll tell you more stories just as soon as you explain what happened today.”

Harry shrugs.  “You mentioned being Padfoot helping you and I thought… what if it helped me?”

“And did it?”

Harry nods.  “There was a … peace.  It’s the first time all summer that I … felt good.”

Sirius nods.  “I’m glad that it helped, but it isn’t the answer.  A furry escape is not the way to handle complex emotions – and I know, I know, I’m not exactly a role model here.  But I also know that it is not a good habit to get into.”

Harry sighs.  “Especially if you’re not an animagus.”

“Exactly.”

“I suppose I should… try to talk about it instead.”

“I’m always here if you’d like to.”

“That sounds nice.  Thanks, Sirius.”

“Anytime, kid.”

[dollsonmain]

Ok time to put everything away. That Guy gets home anywhere between 2:30 and 4.

While I decide whether I want to use this or not (I’m leaning no with a preference for foam board shelves wrapped in different pastel papers, this modular unit would make more sense in a more modern setting) and because if I wait until I’ve made a decision I will never complete the project

I’ve added a pink panel to the back of the bed covering the former shower. I already like the way that looks better, and I think I will do the majority of the book case/curio cabinet/hutch thing I’m building in pink with the counter top part (which will include that shower-shelf, each faux cabinet door (which will be the most boring rectangles ever), and if I add foam board shelves then each of those being a different pastel color of the matching paper.

That paper was something I got from the Amazon Warehouse to get “free” shipping.

Look at it, though. That’s just printer paper and I glued it to foam board. It did get a little wrinkly in a place or two because I didn’t wait long enough for the Tombow Mono Multi to set, but look how smooth that is. It would never be that smooth with white glue or a glue stick.

I’m almost out of that bottle of TMM, but I have another unopened one, so I’m not worried. It lasts a very long time.

I might go around only the outside edge of that curio thing with this wood-look contact paper so that when the bed is down (which will be never, but just in case) the platform frame will look like wood.

I’ll see how I feel about/ how it looks with the whole thing being pink first. Wood grain might look really weird with how low detail most of the rest of the house is, though the stickers are a little more detailed.

Either way, the rest of that is basically simple rectangles. As long as I don’t screw up my measurements too much, it shouldn’t be too headache inducing to complete.

Still thinking about making the battery port cover look like a fuse box, or maybe just sticking a little picture  in a frame on it or something. It’ll look bad regardless. All that matters is that I can get to the screw, really. It’s not like I’ll ever put batteries in it, but someone might some day.

I think I would like to make that weirdly shaped crib storage spot (thank you @dollsahoy​ for figuring that out for me) into, like... Maybe put some little cleaning supplies in there? like a bucket and some cleaning cloths and maybe a tiny broom or mop, or maybe pet supplies since there are sticker animals EVERYWHERE on this thing. There are like 3 dogs and 7 cats (that is an exaggeration but only slightly).

I stopped buying non-toy Mini Brands so I don’t have any of the kitty litter boxes or anything convenient like that.

I could also just whip up a “door” and cover over the space completely with yet another faux cabinet.

AND I was looking at the MGA MiniVerse balls I have. The smaller one is pretty much exactly the right size AND shape for the fountain cutout on the back of this door.

It would stick out a lot, though, so I might make something else to put there like a rack for garden tools or a narrow planter box or something, just to keep the profile of the house smaller which makes it easier to store.

That could also be a place to put a pet stuff station to hang leashes on or something like that.

-

I don’t intend to buy furniture for the house I don’t think. I do have a bunch of My Scene furniture sitting around though it’s not colors that would work with this space, and if I buy one of the Gloria sets (or the coveted Avon set....) they come with kitchen chairs and a table and I think I’ll most likely have this set to kitchen most of the time, if not fireplace.

Modern Barbie furniture isn’t the right colors or style.

-

So decisions I [still] need to make:

how to decorate the fireplace room wall, mantle, and the fireplace itself

what colors to apply to basically everything in the kitchen, especially the appliances, little bits of wall above the cabinets, and the backsplash

whether or not to do detail painting in the kitchen like adding color to the stovetop, faucet, and drawer pulls

which dishes to get and whether to buy dishes that are already done, get some cheap ones and paint them, try making my own again, or something else

whether to use the Mini Brands shelving brackets as modular shelving or make my own foam board shelves

-

..... The only thing I did today was make a pink rectangle. Ugh.

[kezoire]

# * , mazaki kezo ── a dire thing .

first name.    kezo, or "z" surname. mazaki age.     21+    [ 25 by default ] height.     6′1  /  185 cm orientation.     bisexual / biromantic fandom.     fandomless / original lore

lore notes.

set in a world where demons on the brink of death can house themselves in dying humans, whether by force or by agreement

the circumstances occur randomly, by luck, or by plan. though, in most cases it is due to haphazard, split - second decisions by both parties

demon souls can be split across multiple people, but this is incredibly rare. their abilities / powers / enhancements will typically manifest in their vessels, but the speed at which it presents itself varies and can take from as quick as minutes to years

vessels in this universe are referred to as “ dire ”, especially when they are unaffiliated, rogue, defectors, or corrupt.

there exists a central organization that has asserted itself in the beginning of time as the main enforcer and protector of the human world, dedicated to maintaining order and balance, taming chaos. they're referred to as venkari, a sub - set of dire and more formally recognized. one of their main jobs is to keep track of newly turned dire so that they can be recruited or eliminated. recruits into the organization are trained and educated to hunt demons, dire that are considered threats, and other supernatural creatures that pose a danger to human society. venkari largely exist in the shadows, its agents typically living double lives. the organization is vast and has numerous branches, hierarchies, and traditions. the many branches and hierarchies has historically caused numerous issues across history and promotes an unstable foundation of unity.

dire who refuse to join the organization are typically free to go, but they are kept on a short list as targets should they screw up in any manner.

dire / venkari are not immortal by default, but there are measures to ensure this. typically frowned upon.

about kezo.

kezo doesn't remember how he dies. not at first. he just remembers blurs and flashes of reaching the end, blackness, and then staring at bright white lights house in the sub - level of the venkari headquarters.

he was raised by a wealthy family at age twelve after his parents were killed in an accident, living among two step - siblings, and two people he would never properly refer to as his parents but only his uncle and aunt. he worked at the family business, typically in public relations and legal, but he often took advantage of his situation to explore numerous other jobs and hobbies. despite this, he was seen as an ideal candidate to take over the family business when the time came. he was never interested.

kezo knows very little about the demon soul that lives within him, only that he has it to thank for being able to continue living, and that should the demon be expelled, kezo will likely die for sure.

while working as venkari, he trained well despite his lack of seriousness towards it, and worked especially well with the group he was paired with ( yaritza, lasya, yael ). he rose through the ranks as one of the top venkari, and as high as he went, his fall came imminently.

losing a friend who went corrupt ( yael ) and his group fell apart, causing him to defect from the organization and go rogue, refusing to follow orders from an organization he couldn't trust.

having lost status as a formal venkari, he works in the shadows to hunt on a clientele basis, doing whatever case he chooses to do and is compensated for. his reputation, "z" grew in the underworld for his discreetness and lack of "red tape".

doesn't necessarily likes to kill, as he prefers to exorcise, but has lately grown to view what he hunts as unworthy of redemption. it's necessary for compartmentalization.

personality wise, kezo varies depending on his company. for the most part, he comes off as judgmental and intimidating, as he tends to be a man of few words ( this is not true ), but a man of MANY facial expressions. he's intensely loyal when he finds himself invested in a connection. witty, clownish, and tends to have a laid - back demeanor that can be quite aggravating in the face of high - stress. some find him balanced, but he has just become incredibly skilled at hiding his true emotions. anything he does show, is simply part of his mask.

big believer in hands are rated e for everyone!!!!!!!!!!!

hater of chocolate, lover of cats, and even bigger lover of frozen yogurt.

visual notes.

numerous scars littered across his body, most notably a horizontal slash across from the edge of left to right side of his face and bridge of his nose, vertical lines perpendicular on each side. other scars are seen from the curve of his neck down to his shoulder blade, chest, upper back, arm, and torso. the scars came near the end of his tenure as venkari and grew more intense as a dire.

powers?

as of may 31, 2024: i still haven’t figured out kezo’s specific powers that extend beyond enhanced abilities ( strength, quick healing, etc. ) and im thinking that mayhaps, he never got them initially. assumed the demon inside was too dormant or perhaps too weak, kezo gave up on waiting to depend on those gifts to surface and instead focused on honing the skills he did have, becoming a tad too good at combat and strategics. when his powers do start to manifest, it happens post - rogue and leaves him kind of fucked up while he figures out what is happening.

regarding when the powers start surfacing: i have this image of huuuuuge disorientation that overwhelms him like a wave. it just overwhelms all his senses. kinds like being high ( derogatory ) and not having a good time. it'll eventually settle but it puts him through it for a min.